


Roulette (Just With Bullets)

by TsukiDragneel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Immortality, Immortals, Russian Roulette, Swearing, its russian roulette what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsukiDragneel/pseuds/TsukiDragneel
Summary: The Allies sit down to play Russian Roulette. It goes about as well as you'd expect.





	Roulette (Just With Bullets)

"It really is a simple game."

Russia smiles at the five other nations as he inserts the bullet into the chamber, spinning it once so that nobody can tell where the bullet is. "We go five rounds, and whoever is left standing wins."

"Not that I'm not  _enthusiastic,"_ England mutters dryly, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear, "but are you sure this is safe?"

"No," Russia smiles, passing the gun butt-first to China. "I will go last, _da_? That way, I have most chance of bullet."

Somewhere, that reasoning is faulty, but England isn't quite sure where.

"Hey, don't be worried, England!" America smiles, placing a hand over England's small palm. "As the hero, I'll protect you! I live with guns, remember?"

England figures that would be  _exponentially_ more reassuring, if not for America's unfortunate habit of nearly shooting everyone who comes nearby. All the same, he is the one at the table with the most affinity for guns, so it's at least somewhat of a decent statement.

Then again... there  _is_ Russia at the table. And the game  _is_ his.

China raises the gun to his head, grimacing as the cold metal touches his temple. His hand shakes as he holds the gun, index finger quivering on the trigger. 

"Just pull the trigger,  _mon amour,_ " France smiles. "You have the least chance of all of us to take the bullet,  _oui_?"

China lets out a sigh, and pulls the trigger.

_Click._

His relief is palpable as he passes the gun to America, who presses it to his temple and pulls the trigger without a care in the world. He  _would,_ England muses. 

_Click._

Okay, it's England's turn. He has a one-in-four chance of taking the bullet, and a one-in-three chance next round. He can't tell where the bullet is - Russia hid it well, and decides to trust his gut. 

 _Don't explode,_ he prays, pressing the gun to his head. 

_Click._

He lets out a sigh of relief, barely noticing who he passes the gun to. He's  _alive_.

For now, at least.

The sound of a gunshot jolts him out of his reverie, and he turns in a flash, afraid of who he might see.

Oh, god.

The nation whose name he can never quite remember - Canadia? is slumped over in his chair, blood leaking out of a hole in his head. Brain matter spills over the table, and England has to resist the urge to vomit.

"Canada!" France exclaims, and it looks as though he might just vomit. 

And he does, bending over the side of his chair and spitting up whatever fancy French lunch he had into a conveniently placed trashcan. 

"Do not worry," Russia smiles. "Is friendly bonding exercise! We will all be closer friends after this!"

"You're a fucking psychopath!" England spits. 

Russia seems momentarily hurt, before he picks up the gun and loads two -  _two_ bullets into the canister.

"Why are you putting in two bullets, aru?" China mutters. 

"Is more fun this way," Russia smiles, passing the gun to China on his left. "Do not worry. I put two bullets next to each other, so odds are very low that two of us are shot if China is."

"That's not reassuring!" England shouts.

"But we must go until all bullets are gone," Russia simply states, that same demonic smile on his face. "China, please, go."

With a thud, it hits England what's going to happen in this case.

If China, him, or America takes the bullet, then Russia doesn't have to worry about being shot. The only way he'd have to worry about being shot is if France takes a bullet.

"If there are extra bullets in the canister, we shoot them into wall," Russia adds, and England's not sure what to think.

China raises the gun to his head, and swallowing a gulp of fear, pulls the trigger.

Blood, hot red and so  _much_ sprays across the room as China slumps onto the table, and England's pretty sure he can hear France screaming. 

China's not dead  _forever,_ just a little while. Right?

Right?

He barely registers America pressing the gun to his temple and  _again_ coming up empty, the lucky bastard, and suddenly the gun is in his hand.

It's easy to press the gun to his temple and pull the trigger, because he knows that there's no chance he can be shot. France and Russia do the same, and suddenly they're down to four.

Russia presses more bullets into the gun (England's pretty sure it was two more) and spins it, smiling with the same cherubic smile as before. "Are we not better friends now?"

America smiles, leaning on the table (slick with China's blood) and holding out his hand for the gun. "I guess I'm starting now."

Shit. This is  _bad._

There's a one-in-six chance that Russia could win this round, and the same chance that America could, too.

England's sorta screwed here.

America presses the gun to his forehead, smiling with  _ease, practiced ease, this isn't his first time in a gunfight, far from it_ and pulls the trigger.

A bullet arcs across his forehead, creating a shallow cut, but still enough to spill a large amount of blood.

"You cheated," Russia frowns. "That's no fun."

"See, if I didn't, you'd win this round," America smiles. "I know where the bullets are, Russia."

The Russian laughs, before reaching his hand across the table. "Fine. I shall go next."

He presses the gun to his temple, and pulls the trigger.

A bullet arcs through the air, piercing through the Russian's skull and forcing him to drop to the floor, dead. England has to look away, because the  _blood_ is seeping out so slowly, like molasses, and it's  _terrifying._

"That's enough," England snaps. "This game is over-"

"But there's only one bullet left," America whines. "It's not like we can truly die, anyways."

That cut on his forehead... there is far too much blood for it to just be a surface wound.

"You're going to die," England mutters.

It's a strange word to try out on his lips, and he doesn't much like it.

"Yep," America smiles, reclining in his chair. "So, let's end this game. I'm all for fairness, especially since there aren't any real stakes."

He places the gun on the table between England and France, spinning it in a circle.

"Whoever the gun points to has to take the first shot," he smiles. 

This is...  _sick._

The gun slows to a stop, pointing straight at France. 

With slow, robotic movements, France takes the gun and places it at his temple, placing his finger on the trigger. "I'll see you on the other side,  _Angleterre."_

He pulls the trigger, and blood sprays over the room.

England barely registers his scream before America takes the gun, frowning. "I thought so."

He pulls out the barrel for just a second, pushing it back in with a huff. "I shoulda known. Ultimate Russian Roulette."

"That means..."

"There's only one chamber without a bullet," America supplies. "Five with."

He places the gun on the table, smiling weakly.

"Wanna play Russian Roulette, England?"

* * *

"What happened here?"

Germany surveys the scene with distaste, taking in the blood-soaked walls and carpet. "How did you guys manage to destroy the meeting room this thoroughly in one hour?"

"Don't be such a stick-in-the mud!" America smiles, blood covering his forehead. "We were just playing a game!"

"A... game?"

The six share a look, before Russia decides to supply the answer. "We were playing Russian Roulette!"

He's happy, actually. It seems that they have become better friends after all.

"What's... that like?" Germany mutters.

"Well," Russia smiles, twirling a gun around his index finger.

"It really is a simple game."

 


End file.
